


Scorn

by WickedWitchOfTheLeft



Series: To Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cross between a spy fic and an enemies to lovers, Espionage, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hopefully other people find this concept intriguing as well, Non-Canon Relationship, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Resistance, Slow Burn, Tiktok asked: what if Padme Amidala chose to join Vader?, When I say slow burn I mean... pretty slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29323488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedWitchOfTheLeft/pseuds/WickedWitchOfTheLeft
Summary: On Mustafar, nothing went as Obi Wan planned and now the empire is led by Vader, who usurped the emperor, and his enigmatic family. No one knows why Padme chose to join Vader, and no one knows why she stayed.Galatea Organa was adopted by Bail and Breha soon after Order 66, and her parents raised her in a house filled with light, laughter, and like-minded friends. She grew up listening to stories about magic and compacted light, shaped and wielded like a sword. She has water-color paintings of her parents' friends, allies, and members of the resistance littering the walls of her childhood bedroom. Her favorite tutor always wears robes the color of earth and sand, and she's come to associate the colors with tranquility.Gal is embarking on her first mission for the Resistance. Deep-cover espionage. She must work as a surgeon on the Devastator, Vader's prized destroyer, and get as close to the imperial family as she can manage. Alas, reconnaissance isn't the only thing she'll find onboard this terrifying weapon of mass destruction. Gal must confront the confusing information she uncovers onboard and reconcile it with her prejudices. Her crisis is not at all aided by her strange bond with one of her targets.
Relationships: Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa/Han Solo, Luke Skywalker/Original Female Character(s), Padmé Amidala/Darth Vader
Series: To Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2153919
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Prologue

A soft, warm wind swept through the fragrant river valley near her family’s vast country estate. Bunches of wildflowers clutched in chubby hands are destined to be woven into a clumsy, but thoughtful, crown for her mother and she cannot contain the ecstatic giggles that ripple through her small body at the thought of pleasing her favorite person in the whole world. Purple, green, blue, white, and pink waves sway with the tall grasses that nearly dwarf the young one, whose hair flows behind her like a wild, golden stream, whipping around with the chaotic breeze as she runs circles around the small group conversing quietly in the grass. The earth-toned blanket stretched beneath them is large enough to fit twenty, and yet it could never contain the boundless energy of a five-year-old spitfire. Her laughter and energy do nothing to dispel the serious tone circulating at the eye of her storm.

“What do we know of the empire’s plans now that Vader has dispatched Sidious?” questions a nervous, berobed man of late age. His white hair is tucked neatly into a ponytail at his nape, the long lines on his face a mix of weariness and distant contentment. A face that used to laugh easily morphed into the visage of someone who fears danger around every corner. The girl knows him as “Bibby,” but her nickname for him is only a fraction less dignified from his actual surname. Her affection for him is mostly unwarranted, but she’s come to love every single one of her parents’ “friends.”

“Our intelligence team reports very little unrest, which was initially surprising,” a cloaked man remarks in a lilting voice that defines beloved storytime for the girl, who has fallen asleep many nights to the man’s tales of adventure and magic. “Now we know that Vader has been planning this move since Order 66, and he amassed a rather large and dedicated following within the empire’s ranks. They were able to quickly and efficiently quiet any discontent.”

“Do we expect any change in the empire’s behavior?” A Twi’lek with vibrant amethyst skin raises a skeptical eyebrow to accompany her question, unimpressed by the presented information so far.

“Only time will tell, but I expect not.” The cloaked man replies, equally lacking in optimism.

“How embedded is your web of spies, Kenobi?” This man’s countenance can only be described as intense, his fishlike face drawn, but determined. Large, bulging eyes constantly surveying his surroundings, as if even the innocent breeze might carry violence or ill-tidings. He almost seems poised, prepared to defend if need be-- practically the opposite of Bibby.

“Our group is steadily growing in size. While Vader has accumulated his own following, so have we, and they’re all too happy to funnel information to the Resistance.” The Jedi, a founding member of the formerly rag-tag revolutionary order, seems to take a second to contemplate his words before continuing, “As we evolve and organize our bases of operation and train the people who occupy them, we grow stronger everyday with information. I will not say that I foresee an easy, unopposed vanquishing of our enemies, but we will have peace. Even in uncertain times like these, we must hope.”

His companions nod solemnly in agreement as more happy shrieks burst from the child, who seems to have found a hopping creature to amuse herself. She hops along behind it, not understanding that her comparatively large stature and volume would be terrifying for small creatures. To her, they are all treasured friends.

“I am eternally grateful for all of you, and as always, I admire your courage.” A stoic man in gray watches the girl as she hops along, tenderness in his gaze softening the skin around his brown eyes, as warm and giving as the dirt that cushions his daughter’s small feet. “Daddy,” his favorite label for himself, is known as Bail within the fellowship that’s gathered outside his summer home.

“As am I,” chimes the woman to his right, who will gladly replace her glittering coronet with the abandoned flowers, intended for a tiara, that lay forgotten while her daughter leaps along behind the large toad. Breha, “mama,” queen. She answers to many titles, all of them sacred and all of them equal.

“May the force be with all of you, in the coming days as our new foe finds his footing.” This last comment, falling from the Jedi's lips almost out of habit, grows rarer by the day as people fear even acknowledging the scorned religion of the not-so-distant past. Yet, for the fighters, scholars, planners, and spies seated in this field on Alderaan, far from the searching, paranoid eyes of the empire, his words breathe hope and resolution.


	2. A Mind Divided

A short jingle of alarm bells following reverberating audio static wakes me from a rather deep rest, the only one I’ve experienced in these first few weeks on the Devastator. Wiping the sleep from my eyes with one hand and I use the other to stretch blindly toward my bedside table in search of my glasses. The jingle means one thing, and one thing only: it’s time to go to work.

“Senior Lieutenant Moonraker, please report to the medical bay immediately.”

The long, tortured groan that exits my mouth is a clear indicator of how much I love my job. The second PA announcement gets my ass in gear. I’m rarely called in outside of my regular shifts, so curiosity about whatever kind of emergency this may be is definitely scratching at the back of my mind. With closed eyes and my nose pressed between my right forefinger and thumb, I jab the index finger of my left hand into the call button above the table and respond.

“Senior Lieutenant Moonraker, reporting for duty in the medical bay in five minutes.”

I nearly faceplant on the cold, shiny black floor when I roll out of bed and find my bearings on a shallow layer of discarded clothing. Learned movements guide me as I quickly pull on my boxy uniform, and I nearly fall again while I’m hopping around and tugging on my stiff boots. A glance in the full-length mirror welded to the closed door of my refresher reminds me that the charcoal gray Imperial Navy uniforms are just as unflattering as one would imagine, and my bright white lab coat isn’t doing me any favors either. With a frustrated sigh, I yank my hair into a messy bun and pull on my hat before squaring my shoulders and strutting out of the stateroom and into the crowded hallway of the officers’ quarters. I make quick work of mycommute and swipe my badge at the med-bay entrance with a minute to spare. 

A few of my colleagues are crowded around a single bed in the bay and their quiet, but anxious, murmurs are indiscernible across the room. I make a beeline for the commotion and my arrival is rewarded with answers.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Moonraker.” My commanding officer, Captain Rex Marcus, is a very dry man. He glanced down at me and stepped aside so that I could see exactly what kind of problem we were dealing with-- to my surprise, a member of the Imperial family was splayed, unconscious, on the bed. The medics have already stripped his clothes and wrapped him in a sheet from the pelvis down. His face is serene, but covered in bright red superficial lacerations that are just starting to scab. His limbs appear to be mostly intact. My eyes trail to his abdomen and I spot the biggest cause for concern: a long, seeping gash spanning from his left pectoral muscle to his right hip bone. My throat spasms as I swallow a gasp at the sight of bloody bone and tissue. I’m no stranger to such a sight, but the patient in question is a huge cause for concern. No wonder my fellow medics are hesitant to begin.

“As you can see, we have a bit of a problem here. The prince was leading a routine inspection of a research outpost on Geonosis and he was intercepted by enemy fire as he was boarding his shuttle. We are to address his wounds first and then we’ll see if we can wake him up and test his cognitive response.” I nod an affirmative and get to work. His explanation and the sheer appearance of the man on the bed shed ample light on why I was so unceremoniously disturbed from my sleep. All of the people in the room are medical professionals, yes, but I’m the only trauma surgeon aside from the Captain, and the only brain specialist period. 

“Palo, Torvus, get to work on his facial lacerations.” Captain Marcus leads our charge to the wash sinks and lathers up his hands and arms before rinsing and snapping on surgical gloves. “Make sure they’re completely clean of debris and your stitches better be exemplary. We can’t be held accountable for any nasty scars on his highness. Moonraker, you’re with me on the abdomen. Settle in for a long day, team.”

Palo and Torvus give curt nods before readying their station with bacta spray and fine silk surgical thread, the best that Coruscant has to offer. Marcus and I quickly begin debriding the wound. I run the odds in my head, and come to the conclusion that it’s highly likely the prince will make a full recovery, but that doesn’t make our task any less stressful. Rumors run rampant around the star destroyer, detailing the small inconveniences that have led Vader to torture his subordinates, and I can only imagine what the punishment for severe damage to his son would be, even if we are not at fault. 

Marcus is right. The work is long, and grueling, but several hours later the prince is submerged in a warm bacta tank, wounds carefully cleaned and stitched to near-perfection, if I do say so myself. The Captain decided that we will only try to wake him after a few hours in the healing tank, to ensure his comfort but also time for his body and mind to rest. 

I’m sanitizing the recently vacated bed when I can feel the air in the room shift ever-so-slightly. I halt the concentric circles my gloved hands are making with a previously pristine towel and glance toward the med bay entrance. Even without a mirror, I know that my face pales when I identify our visitor. Growing up, she was my idol. A queen, a senator, a fierce stateswoman, and an icon for young women everywhere-- especially young women raised by Resistance leaders who knew her personally.

Padme Amidala Naberrie. Though, I suppose her full honorific would be Padme Amidala Naberrie Skywalker, Empress Consort of the Galaxy and Supreme Chancellor of the Imperial Senate. Just as regal and refined as my parents described, her short stature does little to draw away from her command of the room. And yet, she has the kindest eyes I’ve ever beheld. In the back of my mind, the voice of a young, starstruck girl quietly implors: how could you choose this? 

The collective shock lasts only seconds as we all quickly remember the proper protocol and drop into courteous bows. 

“Please, no need for that,” her voice carries through the tense air like birdsong and I can’t help but feel calmer. “I wish only to see my son. How is he, Captain?”

We all straighten up at her request and I watch as Captain Marcus steps forward to give his report, “Your Majesty, I’m pleased to report that His Royal Highness will, physically, make a full recovery. We will run cognitive tests once he has a chance to rest and recuperate his body and mind. If you’ll follow me, I can take you to his bacta chamber.”

“Thank you, Captain.” 

“Yes, ma’am. This way.”

I shake myself out of my stupor and go back to cleaning the bed. If I keep my head down and mouth shut, I should be able to get through this relatively easily. With no small amount of self-control, I manage to ignore the empress as she walks by, but I cannot help the immense sadness that settles over my heart after she enters the intensive care room with Marcus. Memories forged by detailed stories, told by my parents and their friends, flash before my eyes. The elegant portrait of a young Padme, new to her role as the Senator from Naboo, that hung in our sitting room is clear as day in my mind. The soft smile, the kind eyes that I recognized today, and the careful fold of her hands all masked the fiery spirit that was surely nurtured within. Oh, how you’ve changed, Your Majesty.

My assignment is clear. Watch the Imperial family, keep an eye out for useful intel, and maintain encrypted communication with Resistance contacts. All easier said than done, certainly. Even though she’s clearly in camp with her husband and his ilk, I cannot help but feel like my tasks are acts of sedition against Padme directly. Yet, she shows no signs of fear or compulsion. She seems to be by the emperor’s side of her own free will, and that, in the end, is unforgivable. She would have to be infinitely naive to follow along in the emperor’s shadows footsteps and believe that the empire is truly a force for good in the galaxy when his officers are dropping dead left and right and the Republic she spent her life defending is a pile of smoldering rubble in the streets of Coruscant. Her position as the head of the Imperial Senate is a simply a salve of faux-peace for the thousands of systems hoodwinked into supporting an authoritarian regime. These are things that I must keep in mind moving forward.

The strangest conclusion that I’ve come to over the course of my tour on the Devastator is that the Imperial family is, by all accounts, very close. One would expect a strong, fascist personality like Vader’s to have a stranglehold on his children, but from what I can tell they are all happy and… dare I say… loving. Reconciling the stories I’ve heard regarding Vader’s particular governing style with his adoration of his family unit nie impossible. To snap myself back on track, I only have to remember the stories about the genocide and the younglings he slaughtered at the Jedi Temple at the end of the Clone Wars. The thought of children paralyzed in fear at the sight of their trusted teacher ready to end their young lives is a brutal reminder of my purpose. Replaying that cursed footage in my mind results in the sullied towel being twisted around my clenched fists as I control my breathing. 

I throw the towel into the disposal bin and go about my typical duties as a medical officer on a star destroyer. Since it’s the last Monday of the month, I help take inventory of all the supplies. What I’ve learned is that every Imperial Star Destroyer could easily withstand a siege lasting a couple of years. The sheer amount of supplies at their disposal, from medicine to food to power, is staggering compared to the meager network maintained by the Resistance. It’s enough to make a girl a little pessimistic, but I soldier on.

After taking inventory, I finalize my patient charts. We don’t have any long term patients at the moment, or we didn’t prior to this morning, so there’s not much to do on that front. 

“Looks like we have to start organizing ship-wide physicals in the next week or so,” Palo states. The look on his face is grim, and I don’t blame him. When you work on a ship housing over 30,000 people and your medical facility that employs only fifteen officers is responsible for completing all the physicals in a timely manner, one must deal with many long shifts, grouchy patients, and overbearing commanding officers, whose communal catchphrase (“immediately”) is starting to get really old.

“Oh, what a time to be alive, Palo,” I rest my forehead in my hands and let loose a defeated sigh. “You were on board for the last round of physicals, yes?”

“That’s right.”

“How did that go?” One look at his face in that moment was enough, but I cocked an eyebrow and encouraged him to share.

“About as well as you’d expect,” he shifted uncomfortably in his chair and sipped the cup of caf that was steaming about three hours ago when he made it. “You know the Imperial Navy. Everything is urgent, everybody is up their own ass. Brace yourself for lots of insults and, if I had to hazard a guess, lots of obscene comments from the male population.”

I must have visibly grimaced because he chuckled darkly before shuffling his paperwork and continuing to fill out our royal patient’s chart.

“As if it’s our life’s dream to inspect the mysterious recesses and charming armor rashes hidden beneath all that shiny white plastoid,” Torvus is far too cheerful for his contribution to this conversation, and I resent him for it. “I, for one, am looking forward to the STD outbreak that we are most likely going to uncover over the course of these physicals. Have you ever seen genital herpes up close, Moonraker?”

A sharp look and disgusted frown apparently told him everything he needed to know, and his incessant giggling was only put to a halt by the hiss of hydraulics when the blast door protecting the intensive care unit slid open to reveal Captain Marcus and the Empress. We all shot out of our seats and stood at attention as Padme made her way through the med bay. She sent us a soft, tight-lipped smile as she left, a silent “thank you” for tending to her son. One couldn’t miss the redness in her cheeks, her bloodshot eyes, or the wet trails that slid down her face and under her collar.

“Moonraker, it’s your day off. Report back at 0600 tomorrow morning and we’ll get to work on running those cognitive tests.” Startled by Captain Marcus’ curt orders, but not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I nod and take my leave. 

I all-but sprint through the halls of the Devastator on the way to the mess hall, and once there I grab a wrapped to-go meal and some caf before booking it to my quarters. Nothing better than an early night curled up with a guilty pleasure. When my door slides shut and the lock clicks, I set my food and drink on the small, standard-issue table and strip down, trading my uniform for comfortable, stretchy pants and a loose short-sleeve shirt so that I can relax properly. Delightfully, the meal I grabbed is one of the better concoctions cooked up by the mess on a regular basis, glass noodles with a spiced peanut sauce and cured meat. I scarf down the noodles and finish off my caf before climbing into my bed with one of my all-time favorite romance novels, Lysandra’s Quarrel, and that’s where I stay for the next several hours until my eyes start to droop and my mouth drops open of its own accord to let loose a loud yawn. A quick survey of my watch tells me that I’d spent around six hours reading and, if I wanted to have a relatively painless morning, I should try to get some sleep.

I fold down the corner of the page I was reading and slip the book underneath my mattress for safe-keeping. We’re allowed a few personal items, like books, but I still wouldn’t want a commanding officer finding a cheesy romance novel about a Jedi finding forbidden love with a librarian during the Clone Wars when they’re conducting their monthly surprise inspection. Not only would I never live it down, but the contents of the book would be deemed particularly questionable on an Imperial Naval vessel and I’d rather not face interrogation over my insatiable yearning for love in these uncertain times.

As I lay somewhat comfortably on the bed, I cannot persuade my exhausted, but anxious, mind to cease its racing thoughts. 

Is my family safe? Have there been any new developments with the Resistance? 

What impact will Padme’s role in the Empire have on the rebel cause? Retaining such a beloved, almost sacrosanct, symbol of the Republic has likely had a massive impact on the efficacy of the Empire. I suppose people are even more likely to trust the rules and measures of the Imperial Senate, however authoritarian they are, simply because Padme’s face and reputation are attached. 

I find myself asking so many questions about her life, her choices, and her family. If someone as good and kind as Padme supposedly is can see the potential for redemption when she gazes into Emperor Vader’s eyes… is it possible that he can be saved? The question seems absurd to me, knowing everything I know about his rise to power, but I can’t shake the thought. 

I know he killed the younglings at the Jedi Temple and that the clone troopers razed it to the ground under his direction, in tandem with the former Emperor. 

I know that he betrayed Obi Wan’s trust, attempted to murder his oldest friend, mentor, and confidant in his quest for unlimited power. 

I know that he was ready to kill Padme, his wife and the mother of his unborn children, before she was able to soothe his anger. 

I know that Obi-Wan watched their conversation and reconciliation with undisguised horror from the ramp on Padme’s ship, unable to accept that the strongest woman he’d ever met was willing to court the whims of a brutal murderer. So horrified was he that he proceeded to directly engage his friend, his brother, in combat, convinced that Vader had influenced Padme’s mind. He knew such a thing should have been impossible considering her intelligence and willfulness, but it is the only explanation he could come up with and the possibility filled him with rage. An admirable, exceptional woman, vulnerable in her pregnancy but fearsome all the same, exploited by a force that she couldn’t herself wield in order to further Vader’s greed for power, respect, and devotion. It is unthinkable to my friend even now, nearly 20 years later, when he tells the story to new recruits to guarantee that the numerous tragedies of the war, including interpersonal ones, would never be forgotten.

How did Vader convince Padme that his actions were justified, that young children, including infants, deserved death at his hands? If I could ask her one question without repercussion, it would be that one, and something tells me that she’d be willing to answer, but I can’t fathom what she’d say. I believe in love-- I watched it bloom between my parents, cultivated by warm hands clasped and soft words, every day of my young life-- but I refuse to believe that love could blind an otherwise logical, fierce, and just woman to the violence of genocide and conquest.

Vader and his evils aside, I’ve never heard a whisper of cruelty or evil when it comes to the empress or her children. Could they be assets to the Resistance? I don’t know much about them, only what the Empire wants us to know, which is that the imperial family is a perfect unit. The empress is kind, regal, with an affinity for leadership and mediation. The prince and princess were precocious children who grew into talented, well-rounded adults who served their father’s whims with pride and dignity. Luke is highly-regarded as an ace pilot and gifted engineer, even within the Resistance. He always manages to evade the best that the resistance squadrons have to offer, even when his comrades in arms are not so lucky. Leia’s strategic brain and commanding presence lends well to high-level military leadership and mingling with the Inner Rim cronies of the Empire, but she tended to appear aloof to everything around her, an almost calculated level of coldness, but tales of her fiery passion and lack of control were rampant amongst the imperial troops who trudged through the med bay doors following encounters with her or her emotionally unstable father. Regardless, the royals each seem to have inherited traits from both of their parents, a reality that could pose possible good or bad for the tides of the empire. Who knows what their mother has taught them behind closed doors, what seeds of justice and kindness she planted in their eager young minds during their childhood?

More unhinged queries from a tired mind, but one can’t help but wonder if a woman who once stood for peace, justice, and democracy might someday return to her roots and resist tyranny again. My gut instincts are insistent that Padme would never allow her children to harbor darkness within themselves. Wishful thinking? Perhaps. Would there be room for evil amongst the love showered upon them by their mother-- or, if appearances are anything to go by, both of their parents? Nature versus nurture in a nutshell. My instinct has always been to trust nurture for I could never accept that beings possess inherent evil. Long ago, Obi-Wan gave me a long, weary look before revealing his own take on my psychology, stating: “your mind clings to love and kindness more tightly than anyone I’ve ever seen… it is your greatest strength, but also your biggest vulnerability and you must be careful to guard yourself, young one.” So, basically, I’m not the ideal person to divine whether Padme’s maternal love could realistically quell the discontent and anger hiding within Vader’s genetics.

This train of thought will likely get me nowhere in my quest to aid the Resistance, but sleep continues to evade me until the wee hours of the morning as I contemplate the future and the multitudes it contains.


End file.
